We Won’t Go Until We Get Some
by Marmalade Fever
Summary: ...Respect, Ingredients, or Smooches, But Not Figgy Pudding, So Bring Some Right Here. Many things stand in Draco Malfoy's way of making his potion, including glitter and an obstinate shop girl. DMHG Christmas Drabble


We Won't Go Until We Get Some [Respect, Ingredients, or Smooches, But Not Figgy Pudding], So Bring Some Right Here

A Christmas Drabble for Sunflowerkudi (aka sunflower18), by Marmalade Fever

_Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim Christmas or the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made._

"Decking the halls?" Hermione asked, carefully taking Malfoy's purchase from him to wrap up.

"Hardly. It's for a potion," he sneered.

"Aster's Brew?"

"Marley's."

"Then you'll be wanting the white rimmed holly, not the solid green. And you need—"

"Mistletoe, I know." He rolled his eyes, reached a hand up, and snagged the clump that had been hanging ominously above the counter and, gallingly, over their heads.

"Good riddance," Hermione mumbled, dropping the plant into a paper bag. "Anything else? There's a special on green and red dragon toenails. It's not a glamour, either; it's because of a magical variety of foot fung—"

Malfoy's eyebrows drew together. "What do you mean, good riddance?"

She shifted her weight onto her left hip. "I've just been getting a lot of flak over that mistletoe, that's all."

He laughed. "Yeah, right. Like anyone would harass you for a kiss."

"Excuse me? They most certainly would and have."

"More likely they refused to pay at the counter, lest you hold them to that idiotic tradition. Now ring me up, will you?"

"You know what? No. I have a right to refuse service. Out, no Marley's Brew for you."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Oh, come now, Granger. You know me. I kid; I jest; I express dry wit in sarcastic yet exaggerated ways. Now what is it, five sickles? Six?"

"Out."

"No. No one else has both holly and mistletoe for sale without it being all gaudied up in some glitter-infested, foppish ribbon. And glitter, as we both know, _scatters_, and would likely end up in my brew, completely rendering it worthless. A galleon, Granger. I'll give you a whole galleon and you can keep the change."

"I don't care about your money or your glitter dilemma."

"Then what do you want? A bloody apology? It wasn't that harsh; coming from me, it was actually downright civil. What did you expect? Me to swoop in and beg you for a kiss on bended knee?"

She smiled sweetly, yet evilly. "Loudly. For all in the shop to hear, if you don't mind."

He sputtered. "Now you want the flak?"

"No, but a smidgen of respect from you would be nice. Besides, humiliation is such sweet retribution."

"You're really very cruel, Granger, you know that?"

"Certainly. Now go on, there is a queue forming, you know."

"Oh, I know." He groaned. "Fine." He took a step back, flopped to one knee, and clasped his hands together. "Please, Granger, oh, oh please! One kiss from your big—er, lovely—mouth would be divine, splendid, nay, splendiferous. Grant me just the briefest of busses, so that I can be _on my way_ to… elsewhere already," he finished, huffing.

"I refuse your advances, sir. Five sickles, two knuts." Another sweet smile.

He scowled, flinging the money on the counter and ripping the package from her. "I'm not shopping here again."

"Oh, I know. NEXT!" He didn't move. "What now? You didn't forget the essence of chimera nog, did you?"

"Seriously? You're refusing my advances? Seriously? Granger, you've actually got an excuse to kiss me. You can't tell me you've never fantasized about it even a little."

"Fphh. No, have you?"

"Yes."

"What? Then what on Earth was that whole 'No one would want to kiss you' thing about?"

"Insults, dry wit, jesting. Hello! Me we're talking about here."

"Now you're really not going to leave are you? I'm sorry ladies and gentlemen, but we have a loiterer in the building."

"Kiss me, Granger. Now." He stamped his foot.

"Argh!" she fumed, her ears turning red as she grabbed his head and pulled him to her.

"Well, about time," the man at the front of the queue said to the woman standing behind him, as they watched the clerk and the snobby blond man.

"I'll say," she agreed. "These holiday crowds are bad enough as it is."

"Should we remind them he got the wrong kind of holly?"

"And stand here another ten minutes while they do an exchange? I should say not."

Author's Note: Hello, pretty people! I wrote this in early December and posted it at livejournal, and, well, now I seem to be posting a Christmas drabble in January. At least it's not mid-August, right?

EDIT: This story won second place at the Dramione Awards, Round 7 in the Funniest Ficlet category. :)


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